


Never knew loving could hurt this good

by finnjonesbaratheon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 07:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnjonesbaratheon/pseuds/finnjonesbaratheon
Summary: Billy was used to using sex as a way to communicate the things he couldn’t.





	Never knew loving could hurt this good

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I suck (I know) for not updating And They Were Roommates in 7383732 years, but I promise I haven’t abandoned it. I already know what I want the ending chapters to be like. It’s just the act of writing it all down that I find difficult. I actually think it might be 18-19 chapters instead of my original assumed 20 chapters. REGARDLESS, here’s a Harringrove one shot I started writing after I finished watching season 3. Lololol I apologize in advance for how shit this fic is.

Billy was used to using sex as a way to communicate the things he couldn’t.

After his mom left, and as he grew up and came to understand his attraction to other boys, he’d fuck random guys in the backseats of cars as a way to take his mind off the soul-crushing emptiness he felt once the only ray of light in his life had been extinguished. He used his body to communicate loneliness and desperation for approval and _please promise me you won’t leave me_.

But they’d always leave, in the end, and he’d be right back to square one. Right back to believing that if he fucked right— _got_ fucked right—moaned loud enough, panted hard enough, made guys feel like their weak dick game was actually doing something for him, then maybe they’d stay in his life for longer than a quick fuck.

They never did. But he couldn’t say he blamed them.

He wasn’t out and neither were any of the guys he fucked. California in the 80s might’ve been a slightly better place for who he was than any other place in the country, but it was still California in the fucking 1980s. It was as close to paradise on earth as any human could get, but _almost_ never made the cut.

When Neil had introduced him to his new step-sister—or just plain _sister_ as he’d put it—Maxine and her mother Susan, Billy hadn't put any thought into the girl’s existence. Sure, he found her to be unbelievably annoying, but she was yet another kid who came as a packaged deal with the long string of women Neil dated.

But then Neil married Susan, and both she and Max stayed around, much longer than any of the other broads Neil dated after Billy’s mom finally got the courage to up and leave his abusive ass. ‘ _Without me_ ’ Billy’s brain made sure to remind him. He forced himself to push that thought down. No point in crying over spilt milk.

Max’s arrival in his life crashed into him harder than the waves he used to surf when he was a young boy. Any time she was upset, it was somehow his fault and he’d receive a very _sturdy_ reminder from Neil. If he complained about driving her somewhere, Neil would step in and remind him what happened to little boys who didn’t handle their responsibilities like men. If Neil felt like Billy had inconvenienced Max in any way, shape, or form, he’d make sure that Billy got a physical reminder.

In truth, Billy didn’t think Neil’s increased abuse had anything to do with Max, no matter how much Neil tried to make it seem that way. Deep down, Billy knew that Neil was just absolutely fucking giddy that he now had a new excuse to beat the shit out of his son. Not that he ever really _needed_ an excuse. He made the rules up as he went, and if Billy didn’t immediately fall in step, he’d get the shit beaten out of him.

But there was a chasm that rested between what Billy knew to be the truth and what Billy _felt_. And what he felt was complete and utter fucking hatred towards Max. He hated how she had Neil wrapped around her stupid fucking finger, even if she didn’t want to. He hated how she always seemed to go out of her way to bug him about something, and give Neil an excuse to beat the shit out of Billy if he complained or told her no. And most of all, perhaps the paramount thing that fueled his hatred of Max, was how her mother was not his fucking mother.

Susan was a cheap imitation of the woman Neil drove away, and Max was the new-and-improved female version of the son Neil didn’t want.

But Billy had long since learned that he wasn’t allowed to have _feelings_. He’d long since wrapped such things up and thrown them in a box labeled ‘never fucking open’. So, he did what he did best when he needed to communicate every single one of his thoughts and emotions: he fucked.

He’d bend guys over and grab fistfuls of their hair and make them beg for it. He’d force them on their knees and call them faggots if they enjoyed it. He’d wrap his hands around the sides of their throat and watch them squirm, begging for breath that they knew only Billy could give them. After they’d had what he’d felt like was enough (and that _always_ depended on just how pissed off Billy was on any given occasion), he’d let go and listen to them cough and desperately gasp for air.

That was his way of doing things, and it _worked_ , okay? It worked decently enough for him.

Until Neil and Susan announced that they’d all be moving more than halfway across the country to Who The Fuck Even Knows, Indiana, then everything went to shit.

And Billy was scared, because what if his mom came back and wanted to find him, but she couldn’t because he’d been forced to move to Who The Fuck Even Knows, Indiana?

And it wasn’t even only about his mother not being able to find him— _everything_ was different in Indiana. There were no waves to surf, the traffic wasn’t nearly as bad (something that Billy both hated and loved), and none of the guys were as decent looking as the guys from back home. Plus, they all seemed like country hicks who’d knock up the first girl they could find if it meant it’d throw the stench off them being anything but one hundred percent straight.

This all changed, of course, the day Billy laid his eyes on Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington, who managed to make Billy feel all of the best and worst things in life all at the same time. Steve Harrington, who Billy found himself constantly trying to outdo and impress—despite how many times he tried to tell himself that he was just staking his claim on his new territory. Steve Harrington, whose lips were way too damn nice for a boy’s and whose mouth felt like what Billy thought heaven felt like.

Though, he was sure that comparing another guy giving him a blowjob to heaven was bound to land him in hell.

Billy had done what he usually did when he was faced with any situation which had his emotions running on overdrive: he’d fucked his way through it. He’d bend Steve over every surface they both could find, fucking him relentlessly as loudly and as often as they both wanted. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Steve’s parents were barely ever home, so he had countless hours of time to himself in his stupidly big home. And all that space, and all that time, was well-used, if Billy did say so himself.

He’d hoped that every time he and Steve had sex it conveyed everything he couldn’t say with words: _I finally win_ and _You’re my bitch_.

It’d been a few months of their arrangement the first time Billy actually stayed over at Steve’s house. Like, _properly_ stayed over at Steve’s house without sex being spoken of within the first thirty seconds. Billy hated it. It made him feel exposed and vulnerable and scared. He was in his own head and overthinking everything.

They lied on Steve’s bed, with Billy lying on one side of Steve’s body while Steve lied there going over an essay for class that he was supposed to fix up and re-submit if he had any hope of graduating high school. Steve’s eyes roamed over the pages of his essay and Billy’s eyes roamed over Steve’s body. Steve was mumbling to himself, reading the contents of his essay in a soft whisper and growing more and more frustrated with every sentence.

“This is bullshit,” he groaned out in a frustrated huff.

Billy’s fingers made their way across Steve’s chest, then slowly made their way down to Steve’s torso as Billy flashed Steve a knowing grin and said, “I bet I know how to take your mind off it.”

Steve, to Billy’s surprise, grabbed hold of his fingers and stopped them in their tracks. He gave Billy a look that read ‘ _are you serious right now?_ ’ before gently pushing Billy’s fingers away and saying, “I’m serious, Billy. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to fix on this essay. It’s all bullshit.”

Billy’s mind began to go into overdrive. On the outside, he tried to maintain a facade of cool apathy, but on the inside the cogs of his brain were turning and he couldn’t help the way he started to think self-deprecating things. Things along the lines of _Steve’s finally realized how fucking boring you are_ and _Why do you always have to drive everyone away?_ and his personal favorite _Why can’t you just be normal?_

“I uhh…” He was stuck. He felt like his mouth was full of cotton and his brain was moving too fast and the entire room was fucking spinning. He knew he was lying down but goddammit, couldn’t he just get a second to sit down and collect himself? “I didn’t realize this was really upsetting you.”

_Of course you didn’t. When have you ever fucking thought about anybody but yourself?_

Billy’s inner voice sounded suspiciously like Neil.

“It’s not you. It’s just this whole thing has me stressed the fuck out,” Steve told him before letting out a deep, guttural groan of frustration.

“Maybe I could help? I’m practically a fucking genius,” Billy offered.

“Glad to see that you’re being humble as ever, Billy,” Steve joked.

Billy sat up in Steve’s bed and, brain still filled with the fear that Steve thought he was nothing more than a slut, said, “I, uhh. I really didn’t know how much this was bugging you.”

“Billy, it’s fine. I’m not mad at you or anything.”

“That’s good.” Billy looked down at his hands and saw that they’d begun to shake slightly. He balled them into fists and willed himself to go on. “It’s just that I, um, like having sex with you. And I’m sure you like having sex with me, too,” he joked to lighten the mood.

He’d never been good at talking about his feelings.

“I don’t want you to think that the only thing I care about is sex, or that I’ve got no thought in my head besides that.” _Please read between the lines, Steve._ _Please don’t leave me._ “I uhhh, really enjoy spending time with you.”

Billy stopped talking and looked everywhere else around the room. He hadn’t totally spilled his guts, but even saying as much as he had was unexpected and unnerving for him, and it left him reeling and afraid that Steve would laugh in his face.

Steve’s hands settled on Billy’s balled up ones and squeezed.

“I like spending time with you too, Billy.”

At some point, Steve had stopped being Harrington and had become Steve, and Billy had stopped being Hargrove and had become Billy. Billy wasn’t quite sure when these lines blurred, but he’d be lying if he said that it didn’t feel good to hear a guy say his name and know that that guy would still be there in the morning.


End file.
